


Finders, Keepers

by Misachan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Blade, Episode Tag, Episode: s06e10 Caged Heat, F/M, Het, Knifeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misachan/pseuds/Misachan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg's going to give back the sword. Y'know. Eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finders, Keepers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the salt_burn_porn prompt _His love is like a drug I was tryna hit it and quit it, but baby boy so dope I messed around and got addicted._

Eventually she was going to have to give back the sword.

It's not like Meg didn't _know_ that, she'd been surprised she'd even been allowed to just stroll off with it. Well, okay, limp off with it more accurately but she liked to pretend her walk out of that shitshow of a prison had a lot more of her boot heels clicking down the pavement and the wind in her hair than she'd actually been able to manage.

But tonight Meg was crashing in a luxury penthouse with an incredible shower and after soaking there for a solid two hours she felt the edges of her little play session start to blunt away. She hadn't realized how many callouses from the Pit she'd lost since making it topside; that demon had been a hack at best and he'd still made her react like it was her first time. Embarrassing.

She had to admit though, the day hadn't been a total loss. Meg stepped back into the bedroom and saw the sword still glinting on the nightstand. She let robe she'd wrapped around her drop to the floor, running her right hand through her damp hair as she traced the curve of the pommel with the left. It didn't look like much, really, but her fingertips tingled at the contact, like the metal had built up an electric charge. She lay back on the bed and tilted the blade just so it caught the light; most of the time the gleam was the normal expected silver but if she got it just right there was a faint spray of other colors, strands of golds and copper and rust and even the slightest hint of baby blue that matched its owner's stolen eyes. Seemed like even the angel's hardware had more to it if she just looked close enough.

She closed her eyes and touched the pommel's rounded edge to her lower lip, getting another faint electric spark. Meg was _old_ , old enough that she'd thought she was immune to surprises and _yet_. Turned out that in a day filled with them the biggest one managed to be an angel all but kissing her out of her skin. A full on wind through the moors, bosom heaving, crawled from the pages of the filthiest kind of romance novel, get the Winchesters cleared from the room because they're not old enough to watch this kind of debauchery _kiss_. If she'd known angels had that in them she would've made a much stronger play in that ring of fire a couple years back.

“Clare-ence,” she said, sing songing the name. “You forgot something.” She trailed the tip of the sword across the middle of her palm, just enough to feel the edge. The metal was oddly warm, like she'd slipped it out of his pocket seconds ago instead of hours. “I know you hear me, Clarence.” She put the pommel back to her lips, like it was a microphone. “I'm gonna have some fun with my new toy,” she said, pausing to trace just the tip of her tongue around the end in a gesture she knew even the most virgin of angels would understand. “You want me to stop, just drop by and try to take it back.”

He'd heard. She _knew_ he'd heard, and she didn't think it was her imagination that the sword felt like it had ticked up a few degrees warmer. “All right, then.” Meg started with the edge of the blade against her skin, just enough pressure to be dangerous. She traced that lethal point around the curve of one breast, feeling her nipple get hard as she imagined she wasn't the one wielding the blade. She closed her eyes, the sensation of that celestial metal tingling against her skin combining with the memory of how her fingertips had gone numb during that kiss. Castiel had tasted like the best kind of bad idea; there had been such a rush right in the middle of all that, like something so wrong was happening the edges of the universe had curled. Drugs didn't do a whole lot for Meg anymore but she could think of a long list of things she'd do for another dose of _that_.

She'd made the blade travel all the way down to the inside of her thighs before she finally heard a flutter of wings. Meg opened her eyes to find Castiel staring down at her, an inscrutable expression on his face as if showing up to find demons molesting his weaponry was an everyday thing. “That's not why I gave you the sword.”

Meg couldn't even tell if that was an attempt at banter or not. “You didn't give anything, I took.” And hey, if she wasn't sure whether that was one hundred percent true this was sure as hell not the time to admit it. She adjusted her position, making sure he got the best possible look. “You want it back already? I was just getting to the good part.”

That he didn't have an answer for that sent a thrill straight through her. Whatever preparation he'd steeled himself with slowly flaked away as she took the sword's rounded pommel and teased herself with it, stroking it over her clit before shifting it down further to press against her opening. “You sure this isn't why you gave it to me?” 

The way his eyes widened when she pushed in that first inch was the best kind of foreplay. “No pizza man ever taught you this, did they Clarence?” She saw his hand twitch and wondered if he could feel this. God, she hoped so. He took a step forward and stopped, like he wasn't sure what in the hell he was supposed to do right then. “Are you gonna just stand there and watch me fuck myself on this thing or are you gonna help?” Not that she really minded if he just wanted to stand and watch. That would be amazing, actually.

And he did give her a few minutes, just enough for her to break a good sweat, then she heard that flutter again; when she opened her eyes he was kneeling over her, practically straddling her. The surprise made her every demon instinct seize up, a little thrill of fear that almost made her climax then and there. Before she could blink he had the sword back in hand and had the edge pressed against her throat. “Go ahead,” she said, her heart jackhammering like she hadn't felt since she'd still had the one she'd been born with. “Been a long time coming, right? That's what angels do, kill all of us big bad demons.” He didn't move, didn't blink, those piercing blue eyes staring right into her like he was trying to work up a good dose of wrath. 

Meg had never been the most patient of souls; she leaned up on her elbows, ignoring how the pressure against her throat increased because the blade still didn't cut. His free hand was braced against her shoulder and she shifted it down to cup her breast. She didn't have room to do more than brush her lips against his but for the moment that was all she needed. “C'mon, then,” she whispered, staying right up against his lips. “Get moving on making me scream.”

There was something obscenely beautiful about the way the lust and revulsion pooled in his eyes, like someone grafitting pornography over a stained glass window. He had blood under his nails and Meg lay back, running the pad of her thumb along the copper flecks. “What _did_ you get up to after I was gone?” she said, then sucked on one finger before he could come up with an answer because really, Meg did not _care_. And she locked eyes with him while she did it to make sure he knew she didn't care, and there was something like relief deep in his baby blues. Years in the Pit had made her an expert at spotting self-loathing from a thousand yards; if he wanted absolution for something, well, he was fresh out of luck because that wasn't Meg's business. If what he _needed_ was to dirty himself up a little more, _that_ Meg was here for all night long.

Castiel started fingering her, still keeping the sword at her throat, and he was just as good at this as he was at kissing and Meg was starting to think she'd figured Heaven all wrong. Having to hold still just made it all the more unbearable; Meg liked to writhe and to scream and not being able to made it feel like her skin was going to split open. She wrapped one hand around his tie and pulled him down to her, down into a deep, messy kiss that made every hair she had stand on end. She fumbled off his belt and slid down his zipper; for the moment the sword was forgotten and getting herself around him was the only thought she could keep in her head. She used the tie to maneuver him against the wall while she worked his cock free; she knew she should get him out of his clothes but the time for that had come and gone. Meg wasn't wasting one more second before getting him inside her and straddled across his lap, letting her nails dig into the back of his neck as she took him all the way in. The way his head snapped back when she squeezed tight around him felt like something she'd been created specifically to witness. “Feels good, right?” she whispered, kissing him to catch every little gasp he didn't hold back, and if she'd wondered whether angels would shake and sweat like real live people she sure had her answer now. “All those things you're not supposed to do.”

His expressions were hard to read but she could swear that was almost a smile. She started riding him hard, watching his eyes dilate to narrow blue rings. Without warning he picked her up and pressed her against the wall; Meg wrapped her legs around his waist, grabbing hold of his tie again. “You wanna watch me come, huh?” she said, putting a rasp in her voice. 

Castiel cocked his head to the side, his face flushed but his eyes sharp. “I thought I was supposed to make you scream.”

And it was like a switch had flipped, like Castiel had a gauge turned all the way to that one task; one hand wrapped around her leg to hold her up and the other was back at her breast, stroking and teasing until goosebumps broke out over her arms. He kissed her until she was incapable of doing anything but moan in response, until all she could do was hold for dear life while he worked her over. The climax hit her like a truck and she _screamed_ , grabbing handfuls of his hair to steady herself. Meg had forgotten how good it felt to scream purely from pleasure. She'd thought hell had ripped that out of her lifetimes ago.

His breathing went ragged and he let out a quick, sharp groan, and the next thing she knew they were back sprawled on the bed with him was on top of her wide-eyed and trembling all over. “Y'see?” she said, stroking his hair. “Sin feels pretty great.”

He didn't nod but that would have been expecting too much; after a few minutes of getting himself together he pushed himself back up and made a kind of pitiful attempt to straighten out his clothes. Meg hoped he didn't have to go anywhere holy because there was no doubt about what he'd just been up to. He picked up the sword, giving her a rueful look like this was all her fault somehow. Meg just rolled over, giving him a last good look, then grabbed one of his hands and ran it down her body. “I might need to borrow that again,” she said, nodding toward the sword and hoping he didn't miss her meaning.

He didn't. “I shouldn't.”

_Gotcha_. “C'mon. What's one more dirty little secret between friends, right?”

There was that elusive expression again, that almost smile. “We'll see.”

He disappeared with a flutter of wings and Meg rolled over, stretching out in the bed. “Yeah. I bet we will.”


End file.
